His heart rapped like a hammer against his ribs. Once sanity had settled back into his lust-flushed brain, he’d tried to catch her. Tried to stop her. But she was like the shadows, disappearing into the night. Where had she gone? Back to Poke? What would he suspect? What would he do? Questions roared with gale force through him as he raced down the alleys, his lungs straining and his muscles screaming with agony. He pushed open the Den’s front door. Nothing happened. No hurled accusations. No threats. Perhaps she hadn’t returned. Striding inside, he rushed into the parlor. The Scotsman slept on, but the girl named Gem roused from her chair. “Where’s Shandria?” Will asked. She scowled. “Princess,” he corrected. “Where is she?” She nodded toward the hallway. “Poke’s chamber, I think.” He turned like a puppet on wobbly strings, but there was nothing else to do, nothing but to stride down the hall, to lay his hand on the latch, to push the door open. And she was there.
